The sun had risen, though it gave no warmth.
They'd walked for what felt like hours, away from the battlefield, through burned fields and dry brush, until the sound of war faded to a distant murmur. Now, the only noise was the wind, threading through dead trees like a ghost searching for breath.
Arlen didn't speak. Neither did Elyas.There was nothing to say. Not after that.
He'd held on longer than Arlen had hoped. But even he had limits.
They stopped beneath a twisted pine tree, roots coiled like bones in the earth. Arlen sat down slowly, every muscle aching, his hands still shaking from holding the boy down as the horses rode past.
Elyas sat too. Not beside him—just close enough that it meant he hadn't given up.
The boy's face was blank. But his eyes weren't.His eyes were full of things Arlen didn't know how to name.
Grief. Rage. Shame.And that terrible emptiness that comes when you realize the world isn't fair, and never was.
Arlen looked away.
He remembered another boy.Smaller, maybe.With cleaner hands and simpler thoughts.
He remembered standing behind his father's boots, watching Gareth Ashvale drive a sword through a screaming man's throat.
He had been seven. Maybe younger.His ears rang for hours afterward.But his father never looked back.
"If you want to live, you watch," Gareth had said later. "If you want to die, blink."
And Arlen hadn't blinked since.
He looked at Elyas again.
There was blood on the boy's sleeve. Dried now. Not his own.His fists were still clenched.
Arlen didn't know what to say. And maybe that was better.Words didn't fix broken things. He'd learned that young.
The boy wasn't crying.That was the part that unsettled him most.
He's too quiet, Arlen thought. Too still.
He remembered being like that once. Not when his father died—Gareth hadn't died. Not then. But when he realized the man wasn't invincible.
He'd watched his father bleed once. Not in battle. Just from a knife that slipped during dinner. It was stupid. But Arlen remembered staring at the blood, thinking:
If he can bleed, he can die.
Something had changed in him that day.Not loudly. Just… quietly.
Like a rope snapping far away, somewhere deep in the dark.
He wondered what had snapped inside Elyas.And how long it would take before it pulled him under.
Night fell slowly.
The wind picked up, and the last of the sun bled out behind the hills, leaving the world in shades of iron and ash. Arlen found some half-dry twigs under a fallen log, enough to coax a weak fire from the flint in his pack.
It wasn't much, but it gave light.A circle of warmth in a world that had none.
Elyas sat on the other side, knees drawn to his chest, his face half-hidden in shadow. He hadn't spoken since the charge. Since the hooves.
Arlen didn't expect him to.
He just sat. Listening to the fire crackle. Watching the smoke drift upward like ghosts trying to escape the earth.
Then, quietly:
"He's gone."
Arlen looked up.
Elyas's voice was hoarse. Thin, like it had been buried in his throat for hours and only now clawed its way out.
"He's really gone."
No anger. No blame.
Just finality.
And then—the tears came.
At first they barely made a sound. Just wet lines down a dirt-streaked face.But then his shoulders shook. His whole body trembled like a tree cracking under frost.
Arlen stood slowly. Crossed the fire.Sat down beside him.
He didn't touch him. Didn't speak right away.He just sat. Close enough to be felt.
Elyas leaned sideways, almost by accident, until his shoulder touched Arlen's arm.
"I don't have anyone now," the boy whispered."My mother died when I was born. That's what they said.""I had no brothers. No sisters. Just him.""Just him."
The words hit like stones dropped into still water.
Arlen stared into the flames.
He didn't know what it meant to be fatherless.Not really.But he knew what it meant to be alone.
And so, after a long pause, he said:
"Then you're not alone now."
Elyas looked up, eyes red and glimmering.
Arlen met his gaze.
"I'll keep you safe," he said."As long as I breathe."
Elyas didn't answer.But he didn't pull away, either.
And when he leaned into Arlen's side, just a little more, Arlen let him.
They sat like that for a long time.Two figures in the firelight.One burning.One trying not to fade.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved.
Elyas wiped his face with his sleeve and sniffed.His voice was quieter now. Tired. Small.
"You don't talk much, do you?"
Arlen raised an eyebrow.
"I say what I need to."
Elyas nodded.Then after a pause:
"My father talked too much. That's what the neighbors always said. Once he started, he wouldn't stop."He gave a sad, crooked smile."I think he just hated silence."
"Why?"
"Said it made the dead louder."
Arlen stared at the fire. That hit a little too close.
"He wasn't wrong."
Elyas picked at a scab on his knuckle.
"Did you ever… lose someone?"
Arlen stared into the fire.
He didn't speak right away.Didn't move.His hand drifted to the scar on his leg. Still faintly sore. Still there.
"Yes," he said.
Elyas waited, quiet and patient.
"My father."
"How?"
Arlen blinked slowly.
"Soldiers. Five of them."
His voice was low. Rough. Each word like glass dragged through his throat.
"He killed most of them. Saved me. But one got him in the chest."
He exhaled through his nose—sharp, broken.
"I was there. I saw everything."
Elyas whispered, "Did he say anything? Before—?"
"Just… 'Boy.'"
Arlen's jaw clenched.
"That's all. Not goodbye. Not be strong. Just… 'Boy.'"
The silence stretched.
"He bled out in the dirt. Like all the others."
"I'm sorry," Elyas said softly.
Arlen didn't respond. He just stared into the flames.
Then, finally:
"I killed one of them after. Drove a dagger through his eye."
Elyas flinched.
"I didn't feel anything. Not pride. Not horror. Just... quiet."
He glanced over at Elyas, and for once, his voice softened.
"You're not the only one who had to grow up in a single night."
Elyas didn't say more.He just sat there, still and silent beside the fire, hands curled into his sleeves, head bowed low.
Arlen leaned back, his eyes fixed on the stars above—barely visible through the smoke, faint like ghosts in the sky.
He has no one now.
No mother. No siblings. No home.
Just me.
He didn't feel ready for that.
He wasn't even sure he was someone worth being trusted.
But when he thought of Gareth lying in the leaves, bleeding, whispering that one word—
Boy.
It wasn't just a name.It was a command.
Arlen looked at Elyas again.
The boy's face was tired. His eyes were distant, trying not to cry again, trying not to feel anything.
I'll keep you alive, Arlen thought.Even if it breaks me.Even if the world falls apart again.He'll live. Even if I don't.
His fingers closed slowly into fists.
There was no oath. No firelit vow.Just a choice.
Made in silence.
Unshakeable.
Night pressed in from all sides.But Arlen didn't sleep.
He watched the trees.Listened.
And than, a step.
Arlen rose slowly, hand slipping to his sword.Elyas stirred beside the fire, but said nothing.
Then—A shape emerged from the trees.
A man.A soldier.
He was alone.His armor worn, the insignia half-scraped from his pauldron. A long tear in his cloak. One boot wrapped in cloth where leather had split.
But his eyes were sharp.Clear.Empty.
He stepped forward, sword already in hand.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
Arlen moved between him and the fire.
"We're not soldiers."
"No," the man said."But you saw. That's enough."
"Saw what?"
"The dead. The banners. What happened."He tilted his head slightly."They don't want stories. They want silence."
His voice was calm. As if reciting a rule.
"Orders came through before the first sword was drawn:No survivors. No questions. No memories."He took another step forward."Which means you die."
He moved fast.
Trained. Precise.
Arlen barely blocked the first strike. The second hit his side.The third knocked him back into the dirt.
This wasn't like the bandit.This was a soldier doing a job.
One he'd done before.
The blade came down.Arlen rolled aside.
"Arlen!" Elyas shouted.
The soldier turned—Just a flicker of his eyes.
Arlen lunged. Caught nothing.
The soldier twisted. Drove his elbow into Arlen's ribs.Arlen gasped. Dropped.
The man stepped forward, sword raised.
"Should've stayed quiet," he said.
"Don't touch him!"
Elyas.
A rock flew—hit the soldier's shoulder.He turned, blade shifting.
Arlen grabbed Elyas's arm and ran.
Through branches, roots, dark.
Behind them, the man didn't follow.
But his voice carried:
"Run, then.The others will come.The field doesn't forget."
They didn't stop until they collapsed beneath the trees.
Elyas shook. Arlen bled.
"He was sent to kill us," the boy whispered.
Arlen nodded.
"Anyone who saw what happened."
"Why?" Elyas asked.
"I dont know why"
The fire was long behind them now. Only shadows remained.
They sat in the dark. Listening. Breathing.
Waiting.
And then—
Voices.
Not close. Not far.
Moving through the forest.
Low. Clipped. Commanding.
"Two shapes. Young one. Sword on the taller."
"They were at the stream. Move west."
"Orders?"
"Same as always. Clean it up."
Arlen's hand closed around his sword.
Elyas looked up at him, eyes wide.
"How many?"
Arlen didn't answer.
He just rose.
Pulled the boy to his feet.
And whispered:
"Run."
Branches clawed at their faces, roots caught their heels, and the dark seemed to pull tighter with every step. But Arlen didn't stop.
"Keep going," he gasped, voice raw. "Don't look back."
Elyas stumbled beside him, smaller legs struggling to keep up, breath hitching with every pace.
"I—I can't—"
"You can. Just a little more—"
But the boy tripped.
His foot caught on a root hidden beneath dead leaves. He hit the ground hard, skidding through dirt and ash.
"Arlen!"
Arlen spun back.
"Get up!"
"I—I think—my ankle—" Elyas clutched at it, grimacing. "I can't—"
Then the sound came.
Boots. Fast. Close.
Two soldiers burst through the trees behind them.Helmets down. Armor dark.No colors. No insignia. Just steel.
Arlen stepped in front of Elyas, sword raised.
"Stay down," he said.
"Arlen—"
"Don't move."
The first soldier didn't wait.
He lunged.Steel hissed through the cold air. Arlen blocked—just in time. The force rattled through his arms.The man was fast. Trained. Cold.
Another came from the side.
Arlen twisted, parried, caught the edge of the second blade—but the angle was bad.
Steel bit into his shoulder.
White-hot pain exploded down his arm.
He cried out. Dropped to one knee.
The first soldier raised his blade for the kill.
Elyas screamed.
"No—!"
The blade began to fall.
Then—
A sound.
An Arrow!
There was no warning.
No shout.No bowstring snap.No flutter of feathers.
Only the sound of impact.
A wet, meaty thud.
The shaft drove in low, just above the collarbone—right at the gap where armor meets neck.
It punched through skin, pierced the artery, and buried itself halfway into the base of the man's throat.
For a heartbeat, the soldier just stood there.
Eyes wide.
Blade still raised.
And then he let go.
His sword fell with a dull clank beside Arlen.
His fingers clawed at the arrow.Too late.Blood gushed from both sides of the wound—thick, dark, arterial.Each breath sprayed more across his chestplate.
He made a choking sound—then another—his mouth opening as if to say something.
But no words came.
Only the sharp, ragged rasp of someone who no longer knew how to breathe.
His legs gave out.He dropped to his knees.Blood poured over his armor, soaking into the ground.
He stayed like that, hunched forward,gurgling—
until he collapsed face-first into the dirt, limbs twitching, body going still.
The second attacker hesitated.He stared at his fallen comrade—at the arrow still jutting from the throat.
Then his head snapped up toward the trees.
"Where?!"
No answer.
Only the wind.
The soldier snarled and bolted into the brush, sword drawn.
"Coward!"
He disappeared into the darkness.
For a moment—silence.
Then—
A sharp, wet sound.Like meat splitting.
And something heavy thudding to the ground.
Elyas covered his mouth.
Arlen squinted through the dark.
At first he saw only trees—trunks and shadow—
Then—
Blood.
A sudden spray across the leaves.
Something rolled out from the brush.
A helmeted head.
It bounced once, then settled in the dirt, visor cracked. The eyes behind it were still open.
Elyas recoiled.
Arlen didn't move.
Then he saw it.
A figure. Stepping from the trees.
Tall. Broad. Armored from head to toe.
A knight.
His sword was long—single-edged, heavy, still dripping red.No crest on his armor. No banner.No sound from his mouth.
He said nothing.
Just looked at them.
And took one slow step forward.